The Hermit of Lammas Wood

by Nathan Lowell

  “I’ll have some heat under the tea in a bit,” Tanyth said by way of apology.

  Gertie fought her way to a full seated position, her bedding draped around her shoulders. “That would be lovely. And your oatmeal. That makes mornin’s so much better. You been doin’ that for a while.”

  Tanyth nodded and poked the fire a little more. “Travel rations are good and all, but they get old. Oatmeal’s light so I can carry a lot of it in my pack. Only need a little bit to make a full meal that sticks with me. Dependin’ on the season I can find apples or berries to put in it. Not like I have to carry a lot of extra with me.”

  “Cuts down on the amount of time you have to deal with strangers.”

  Tanyth raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah. That, too.”

  The oatmeal began to bubble so Tanyth pulled the pot away from the fire and began dishing it up.

  “I saw the owl last night,” she said, not looking at Gertie.

  “In a dream?”

  “Yeah. She’s ahead of us, right on the coast. At least she was.”

  “What happened?”

  “Too crowded for her. Too many people scarin’ away her meals.”

  Gertie spooned the warm mush into her mouth, licking the spoon with each bite. “What d’ya put in this to make it so tasty?”

  “Nuthin’. It’s just oats, water, and a pinch of salt.”

  “Hmm. Tonight, let’s make it with cider.” Gertie grinned. “There’s some left, I think.”

  “All right.”

  “So why don’t you tell me what has you so upset this mornin’.” Gertie took another spoonful of oatmeal and kept her face down as if looking into her bowl.

  Tanyth saw the bright eyes of the mouse watching her and chuckled a little. “They got men guarding the whole upper edge of the cliff. Two of ’em in little lookout stations all around the top.”

  “That’s good,” Gertie said. “That’ll make things a lot easier.”

  The old woman’s quiet words interrupted Tanyth’s report. “How d’ya figger that?”

  “They must have a way up and down.” Gertie scraped the last of the oatmeal from the bowl and placed it on the ground in front of her.

  “What?”

  “If they got lookouts on the top of the cliff, they must have some way for a body to get from the top to the bottom and back again.” Gertie shrugged. “They certainly didn’t fly.”

  Tanyth finished her oatmeal in silence, digesting the observation.

  “Trees say Penny and Rebecca are almost back to town,” Gertie said.

  “Yeah, I heard that last night. Who’re the men coming west?”

  Gertie shook her head. “What men?”

  “Trees also said a group of men camped along the shore a day west of Northport.”

  Gertie’s smile lit up the campsite. “They like you.”

  “Who are they? How do you know they like me?”

  Gertie waved her hands in the air. “No, no, dearie. Not the men. The trees. They like you. They tell you things they won’t tell me.”

  “How does that work, exactly?”

  Gertie picked up her tea and stuck her nose in the cup before answering. “I wish I knew. Gossipy things. Would be handy to be able to rely on them for findin’ stuff out. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it don’t. Sometimes who’s doin’ the listenin’ hears nothin’. Sometimes hears more than they care to know.” She huffed a final indignant huff and took another pull of her tea.

  Tanyth blinked, trying to sort out the threads of whatever tapestry the old woman wove. “So you don’t know who they are?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said the trees like you.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Richard Marong and a bunch of garrison soldiers unless I’m very much mistaken.”

  “Mice tell you that?”

  “No, Miss Tree Listener. The mice didn’t tell me that.” She sipped her tea. “I’ve a gull in the harbor. She saw the Sea Rover sail into port day before yesterday.”

  “You can see that far away?”

  Gertie sipped her tea and muttered something into the cup.

  “Sorry, Gertie. What was that?”

  Gertie’s lips twisted in a sideways grimace. “Only when I’m asleep.”

  Tanyth’s quiet laughter brightened the chill air.

  “Nothin’ to be laughin’ about. That’s a long way to read anything, let alone somethin’ as scattered in the head as a seagull.”

  “No, indeed,” Tanyth said, struggling to control her mirth. “That’s why you have me practice, I’m sure.”

  Gertie’s face brightened. “Just so, just so. Untrained like you are, why, who knows what skills you might have and how much talent.”

  Tanyth chuckled all the way through clean-up, and even Gertie giggled once or twice.

  When they’d finished packing away their camp and kicked soil over the fire, Gertie started off to the south once more. “We’ll be there by midafternoon, I suspect,” she said. “Then we’ll see what we see.”

  For a lark, Tanyth closed her eyes and reached out for her owl.

  The sun was too bright and the air too cold. The spoils of a good night’s hunt filled her belly and she hooted in consternation at being awakened at such an hour. She swiveled her head and scanned the surrounding forest. Nothing looked amiss.

  She shifted her weight, testing the branch with her talons, before puffing up her feathers to protect her from the cold and tucked her head under a wing to sleep until dark.

  Tanyth tripped on a root and saved herself from a nasty fall only by the grace of a strong grip on her walking staff.

  Gertie marched on a dozen paces ahead of her.

  Tanyth drew in a deep breath and stepped along sharply to catch up to the old woman. As she closed the gap, Gertie turned to smile back over a shoulder.

  “Told ya,” she said.

  At midmorning, Gertie called a halt. “I need to put this pack down for a minute, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite. Just want to sit a bit here and catch my breath. The mice seem a bit restive and I’m not sure the cause.” Gertie slipped her pack from her shoulders and plunked it down beside an ancient maple. In a moment she’d joined it on the ground and settled herself among the roots.

  Tanyth followed suit and settled against a sturdy oak a few feet away.

  “If you can find a bird, dearie? There might be somethin’ to see.”

  Tanyth shrugged and closed her eyes, slipping into the space where sometimes she could see through other eyes. As she sat there, the world slipped away and she became aware of the tree behind her. Its roots anchored it to the soil and rock, the bones of the earth providing a firm foundation. The wood was merely arms reaching into the air. The trunk held tiny rivers carrying the blood of the earth high into the sky and through it all pulsed the fire of life.

  Heavy steps rustled last year’s leaves and the stink of man sent panicky thrills through her body. She froze, belly to ground and ears down. Her mottled brown coat still winter white on her belly but hidden as long as she remained still. He pushed through the undergrowth without stopping. In a moment he was far enough away that she could make a break for the nearest hole. She stayed frozen for several moments longer. Another man followed the first at some distance—moving slower, quieter.

  “Somebody’s comin’,” Tanyth said.

  “Mice say a couple of ’em,” Gertie said, heaving herself up off the ground.

  Tanyth scrambled to her feet and took up her staff, grinding the iron foot into the leaf litter and soil. She felt the comforting strength of the trees around her and turned to focus on the sound of crunching leaves.

  A shadow detached itself from the backdrop of trees and shrubs and lumbered toward them. As he drew nearer, he started growling. Under other circumstances it might have been disconcerting but on the whole, Tanyth had to choke back a laugh. He raised his arms, hands curled into crude claws. When he was only a fe
w yards away, she realized that his clothing—a dark green work shirt and heavy black trousers—were smeared with mud and dirt. Leaves stuck out of his greasy tufts of hair and twigs festooned a bushy beard. He stopped a few feet away and uttered a ridiculous approximation of a roar.

  Gertie chuckled. “And what are you supposed ta be? A bear?”

  The man’s eyes blinked a few times and he brandished one arm as if clawing the air. “Who dares decorate my forest?” he shouted.

  Tanyth looked to Gertie who shrugged in return.

  “You! Woman!” the man pointed at Tanyth. “Why come you to the Lammas Wood?”

  “Seemed a nice day for a walk.” She looked to Gertie again. “Ain’t that right, Gert?”

  “Oh, aye. Chilly start but I must say it got my blood movin’–”

  “Silence!” he roared again. “These woods are mine. You will be wise to leave them. Now!”

  “’Zat so?” Gertie said. “And who might you be when you’re at home and not scragglin’ through the forest, then?”

  The man raised his arms again and took a few steps forward, his face screwed into what he might have considered a most threatening scowl. “I am the hermit of Lammas Wood. Leave now or suffer my rats.”

  “Suffer your rats?” Gertie asked. “Are they decoratin’ your forest somewhere nearby?”

  “Where’s your pal?” Tanyth asked. “You got an apprentice lurkin’ in the bushes back there?”

  A rustling in the undergrowth to their right resolved into an archer, longbow strung and arrow nocked but not yet aimed at them. “Who, me?” he asked.

  “Ah, there he is,” Gertie said. “Good, now maybe we can get to the bottom of this.”

  “Lady, the only thing you’re getting to the bottom of is a real tall cliff if’n you don’t turn tail and git.”

  “You picked him to impersonate the hermit because he’s big and scary lookin’?” Gertie asked jerking a thumb at the big man with his arms still in the air.

  The big man roared again—somewhat half-heartedly to Tanyth’s thinking.

  “Oh, that’s quite enough now. Stop being silly,” Gertie said. “Put your arms down. They must be tirin’ to hold up like that.”

  With a glance at his companion, he lowered his arms slowly to his sides.

  “There, now, I know you’re not the hermit, so who are you, exactly?” Gertie asked.

  The big man started to speak but the archer interrupted him. “Shut it. We’re not here to have tea. You’re trespassin’ and you’re just leavin’.”

  Gertie made a show of looking around the forest, even though Tanyth knew she was blind as two bats in a bag. “Seems to me this is Lammas Wood, ain’t it? King’s land unless you’ve a warrant by his hand, and I ain’t heard anybody been granted a warrant since Northport.”

  The archer raised his bow and drew down. The wicked broadhead gleamed in the late morning sun. “Here’s my warrant, lady. You and your traveling biddy here turn your behinds around and git or I’ll deliver it in person.”

  “Oh, goodness. Gettin’ so a body can’t take a stroll in peace.” She turned to the burly man, now shifting his weight back and forth and shuffling his feet. “If you’re gonna keep doin’ that, at least get it right.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a couple of the words wrong. You should say, ‘Who dares desecrate my forest?’ not ‘decorate’,” she said.

  “Lady knows we ain’t much decoration, come to that,” Tanyth said.

  “Desecrate?” the man asked.

  “Yes. Say the whole thing so you can get the feel of it,” Gertie said.

  “Who dares des—dessicate—.”

  “Des-e-crate,” Gertie said. “Crate, like a box.”

  “Des-e-crate,” the man repeated.

  “Very good. Now in a sentence?”

  “Who dares desecrate my forest?” the man said.

  “Much better. Don’t you think that’s better, Tanyth?”

  “Lady! Shut it or I’ll shut it for ya.” A most alarming blotchy red covered the archer’s face.

  “I’m jus’ tryin’ to help. If you’re gonna chase people off, it would help if you at least used the right threats and all.”

  “What part of ‘arrow through the ribs’ is gettin’ lost under that gray hair?” he asked.

  “Arrow? What arrow?” Gertie asked.

  “He’s got a bow, Gertie. Drawn with an arrow pointin’ roughly in your direction,” Tanyth said, feeling a stirring in the ground under her feet. “I’m pretty sure he’d miss if he actually loosed it, but just so ya know.”

  “What, is she blind?” the archer asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Quite blind. Cataracts in both eyes. You can see ’em in the right light,” Tanyth said.

  The archer frowned in concentration and the point of his arrow dropped a bit.

  “How’d she know I had me hands up, then?” the burly man asked.

  “Oh, you were payin’ attention,” Gertie said and clapped her hands in girlish delight.

  “She has help seein’,” Tanyth said.

  “What? Are you her eyes or somepin’?” the man asked.

  “Naw. She has a mouse who sees for her.”

  “A mouse? Really? Where?” the man asked.

  Gertie lifted a hand and pushed aside the white hair. “Here. You see her?”

  A small brownish shape reared up for a moment on Gertie’s head.

  “Well, I’ll be. Malcolm? Did you see that? She’s gotta mouse on her head!” The big man grinned in apparent delight and took a step closer. “You have her there all the time?”

  “For pity sake, Arnold. Shut up,” the archer growled, his face turning even redder.

  “Don’t she crap in your hair?” Arnold asked.

  Tanyth laughed, caught up in the moment. “I asked her the same thing.”

  “Last time,” the archer said, arrow point rising again and his jaw clenching. “Get out.”

  Tanyth stepped into his line of fire, stabbing her staff deeper into the ground. “Or what?”

  “Or else I put a yard of oak into each of you and leave you for the mice to eat.”

  The stirring under the ground grew. Tanyth felt it in her staff and focused her mind on the power of the trees around them. Time itself felt soft and stretchy. The light, a golden syrup falling around them. The litter around the archer’s boots shifted slightly and pale roots crawled out of the ground and around his ankles while Tanyth stared into his dark eyes.

  “Try it,” she said.

  The archer loosed, his fingers splaying wide behind the bow and the arrow spun toward her. A slight shift of her arm and her oak staff caught the broad head half a foot above her hand.

  The big man coughed in surprise. “Did you see that, Malcolm?”

  “Impossible,” he said, his words a bare whisper, his eyes wide enough to show white all around.

  “As impossible as that?” Tanyth asked and jerked her chin in the direction of his feet.

  He looked down and twisted his hips. His feet didn’t move. “What the—”

  “Oaks. Strong roots, eh?” Gertie said. “Don’t mess with oaks. Hard wood. Long memories. Terrible gossips.” She turned to Tanyth. “Well, I suppose we should be goin’ now, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m rested,” Tanyth said although her legs felt rubbery and weak.

  Gertie hefted her pack up from the ground, shrugged into it, and turned away to retrace their steps. Tanyth stripped the arrow from her staff and dropped it into the leaf litter. A careless step as she picked up her pack resulted in a brittle cracking sound.

  “Wait,” the archer said, his voice a strangled gasp. “Wait. What about me?”

  Gertie stopped. “What about you?”

  “You can’t just leave me here.”

  Gertie turned back to him. “You were gonna leave us here with a yard of oak, as I remember.”

  “Yeah, but not alive,” the man said.

  Gertie turned her face to Tanyth before
looking back at the man. “What? You want us to kill you?”

  The man turned a stricken gaze on them and reached for another arrow. He pulled out a snake that curled around his forearm and raised a fanged head as if to strike. The man screamed and shook his arm, casting the snake aside—and a broadhead arrow landed on the ground.

  The big man took a small step forward. “Wait, please, mum,” he said.

  “Yes?” Gertie asked.

  “Who are you, mum? How did you do that?”

  Gertie smiled. “I’m the real hermit of Lammas Wood.” She glanced at Tanyth. “At least for now.”

  The big man gulped audibly.

  “And I’d appreciate if you two would stop decorating my forest,” she smiled at him.

  His gaze went back and forth between Gertie and Tanyth a couple of times and then he smiled back.

  “Thank ya, mum. Soon’s I get Malcolm loose, we’ll get out of here. I promise.”

  “I believe you,” Gertie said. “And if not you’ll suffer my rats.”

  The archer huffed in exasperation. “It’s wrath, you stupid bitch. Wrath!”

  Gertie turned her face toward the man and the smile she gave him was not very friendly.

  The leaves across the forest floor rustled as if being struck by rain. The sound grew louder by the second—the whisper becoming a roar—and in moments a grey brown carpet surged around them as thousands and thousands of rats filled the clearing. As suddenly as they came, they froze—ears and whiskers twitching, all facing the archer.

  “You say it your way. I’ll say it mine,” Gertie said. She turned and led Tanyth back down the trail.

  They heard the man shouting for quite a long time.

  Chapter Thirty:

  Strategic Retreat

  Gertie stopped when they got back to their campsite and tossed her pack on the ground. “Any tea left?”

  “I was about to ask the same thing about the cider,” Tanyth said but shucked out of her pack and knelt to the fire pit. Her peripheral vision wavered as if underwater but focusing helped keep her head clear. She scraped together some of the half-burned stubs and stacked up some dried grass and twigs left over from their earlier fire.